Still haven’t taken my dog out. I’m kind of just waiting for him to tell me when he needs to go out. He’s just lying around at the moment. It’s 2:30 already.

Fine, I say. I’ll take him out.

Look at the houses. Look at the lives people live in. The apartments. The yards. The windows. The color. The way the trash goes out. The cars, in the garage and on the driveway. Snowy and underpolished or immaculate, pristine. Who are we dealing with on these New York streets? A wide array. Not too many drivers. The drivers are on the roads. The carless are on the walks like me. But I’ve got a car on the way. My sister’s. Super bass. Have I told you about that? It’s white. The car is white. White like my family. White like our guilt. White like the turkey that we eat on the table. White like the whale. Write like the wind; that’s what my boss tells me.

I am proud to be American. There are multiple Americas in America, and I don’t just mean North and South. This country has more than one dimension. More than one aspect. I am from the West, living in the East, home of Joseph Smith before he left on the pioneering. I have a family waiting to come out of my relationship into the familial setting of my Salt Lake hometown. But I can’t even take care of my dog. The Lord keeps trying to take him out, to bring me down. Do you have any idea how much energy it takes to remove a bikini? How much time? Who even knows what’s going on inside of him right now? The vet might not be able to tell me. We may never know. It could take it being pulled out by the gloved hands of surgeons. Goddamn weaknesses. We’ve all got them. Cheap masks and a mouth that won’t stop. Fingers on fleek.